


somebody else's lake

by filthparade, orphan_account



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: wrestlingkink, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacles, Xenophilia, seth has a pet tentacle monster?, work with me here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 17:58:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2859857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthparade/pseuds/filthparade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for <a href="http://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=2071#cmt2071">this</a> kinkmeme prompt at the wrestling kinkmeme. This is a collaboration between filthparade (who wrote the fic) and greymon (who drew the art). It's exactly what it sounds like from the tags. Dean Ambrose. Tentacle monsters. Seth Rollins is there. Yup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	somebody else's lake

**Author's Note:**

> **artist note:** grey here! so, i hope everyone is as excited about this as i am. i had originally planned to just do some art for the kink meme prompt, but my lovely filthfriend decided to make my christmas with some fic to go with it. (because what is the true spirit of the holiday? that's right. tentacles.) i'm altogether very pleased with the collaboration and hope to do it again! （*´▽｀*）
> 
> also: if you're into reblogging things, [here's the post for this fic on tumblr!](http://moxmallows.tumblr.com/post/106265869611/fic-somebody-elses-lake-dean-seth) danke. ♥

Dean doesn’t know if he’s ever actually been in this much trouble before. That’s saying something, too, since he practically lives in trouble. He used to say it’s where he thrived, but lately he’s starting to realize it’s just that it’s all he knows. He doesn’t need it to breathe, but he breathes easier when he has to fight his way out of something.

That said, he may have misjudged how much trouble he can handle this time. He hadn’t really had a plan (he’s bad at plans, that’s what he had Seth for, to make sure he doesn’t barrel full steam ahead into trouble, but Seth’s not his keeper anymore, is he?) when he’d decided to give Seth a visit. The company’d been in town. Dean still knew Seth’s address.

He’d thought about getting drunk beforehand, to give him a little fire before he went in, but he didn’t. He just drove his rental down to the quiet suburb Seth lives on – only a couple miles from the house he grew up in, and there are treelawns, and Dean always wrinkles his nose when he sees them – and parked a few houses down.

Seth’s car isn’t in the driveway. That gives Dean a little boost of confidence. He still doesn’t know what he’s planning on doing once he gets in there. Piss on Seth’s bed, put some of his fancy shoes in his toilet, something. He’ll figure it out once he gets there 

That was his mistake.

It’s a neat two-story number, and Dean has a key to it. He’s positive that Seth must have changed the locks, knowing that, but when Dean tries the key in the side door that leads into the basement, it unlocks, and he slips right in. That’s as far as he makes it.

Dean doesn’t even know what hits him at first. He’s just closed the door behind him when the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and then something like, like, he doesn’t even know how to describe it, but _something_ – touches his lower back. He jumps, but before he can say anything, he’s being flung halfway across the room.

He braces himself to take the impact on the wall, but he doesn’t actually hit it. His brain’s cringing in confusion, still braced for pain, but he’s just dangling there in midair. The room’s dark enough that he can’t see, but he can definitely feel. He can feel something winding around his ankle, another slithering up over his chest, another wrapped tight around his waist.

His first thought is snakes. It doesn’t make sense, exactly, because snakes aren’t, they don’t have this kind of coordination, do they? Or strength? But if it’s snakes, he’ll just have to not move. Fuck, he hates snakes, slimy and slithery and they hiss, and they’re poisonous, and his hands are shaking. Maybe all of him is shaking, but he knows he needs to stay as still as possible, and that’s when he hears, through the blood rushing in his ears, the jingle of keys in the front door.

Great. That’s just great. Now he’s going to get eaten by the snake menagerie he didn’t know Seth had, _and_ the man himself is here to watch it happen. Fantastic. Dean really wishes he’d stop having ideas. They never work out in his best interest.

The sound of shoes on hardwood is startlingly loud, or Dean’s just hyperaware of it, because he can follow Seth’s footsteps wherever he goes in the house. Creaks overhead become farther away, then closer, then farther again. The whole time, there are slithery things moving on him, and Dean wants to shout, wonders if it’d be worth getting Seth’s attention just so that he doesn’t get fucking bitten, strangled. He hasn’t heard a rattle or anything yet, but. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

He doesn’t end up having to shout at all. The footsteps creep closer, closer, closer until they can’t be anywhere but the basement door, and then the door opens, casting light down the staircase leading up to it. Dean half wants to take that moment to look and see what’s happening, because his brain is just now realizing there’s no way this can be a bunch of snakes holding him up, not for this long, unwavering, but he still doesn’t know if movement might get him bitten, or hurt, or, or something.

“Hey, sweetie,” Seth says in a low voice, and Dean’s thrown off – is he – talking to the thing? That’s, that’s fucking weird, but then the light flicks on, and Seth’s right there, right at the top of the stairs, looking down at Dean. He doesn’t even have the grace to look shocked. He just looks… assessing.

“Well,” he finally says, sauntering down the stairs – Dean burns with hate for him, honestly, and even more because he looks fucking good as hell – and finally taking a seat a few from the bottom. “I see you met my friend.”

Friend? Singular? That makes no sense, none at all, and Dean has to do it. He has to look down, and what he sees nearly makes him swallow his tongue.

It’s not snakes. It’s worse than snakes, because snakes are at least something he’s seen before, something that makes _sense_. This, looking at this, it’s something his brain can’t process because it’s something that’s not possible.

He can’t actually see all of it. All Dean can see are the parts on him, a kind of mottled green color, with – his brain recoils in his head, he can feel it, because those are. Those are tentacles. They’ve got suckers and everything, like you’d see on an octopus, all these little suction cups on what’s got to be thousands of little tentacles, and they’re everywhere. All over him.

They’re winding around his legs, sneaking up his shirt, he can feel them up the back of his jacket, through his legs, there’s a couple he can feel in his _hair_ , and a few, he can see, are twisting around his arm – the one not already pinned against his side. He belatedly tries to move, wriggle an arm free. Nothing. Nothing but these tiny pinpricky kisses from the suction cups, and the smooth slide of the tentacles against his skin.

“What the fuck?” he asks Seth. He means it to come out in a yell, but it’s more like a croak, his mouth gone dry. “What is this?”

Seth smiles a little. Dean can see it from here. “My friend,” he repeats. “What were you planning on doing in my house, by the way?”

He doesn’t even look mad. That’s the kicker. He just looks amused, and a little expectant. He doesn’t look upset that Dean’s broken into his house (does it count as breaking in if he had a key?) or like he plans on telling the thing (what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck is it) to let Dean go any time soon.

Dean coughs, then decides maybe the truth wouldn’t go amiss here. It’s not like Seth would believe a lie, anyway. He doesn’t think Seth’d buy ‘I just came by to water your plants.’

“Piss in your shoes or somethin’,” he mumbles. There’s a tentacle in his sock. He’s pretty sure there’s one trying to worm its way down the back of his pants. “I didn’t really think it through.”

That makes Seth laugh, and as far as Dean can tell, it’s a real one. It’s the kind he used to do when he forgot to laugh so you couldn’t see his gapteeth, all unashamed and cute. Dean hasn’t seen it in a long time. He kind of missed it.

“No, you never do,” Seth murmurs, standing and moving the rest of the way down the stairs. He has his hands on his hips as he looks at Dean, tentacle-covered and hoisted into the air. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You could let me duck and run with my tail between my legs,” Dean suggests, trying to get his arm free. Damn, but these things are strong. He’s not a weak guy, got some arm muscles on him, and he’s not making any headway.

“Hmm,” Seth hums. “I could. But I don’t think you’d learn your lesson that way.”

It’s Dean’s turn to laugh, a bark that even startles him. “Trust me, man, I’ve learned my fucking lesson. You can even have your key back – I’ll stay out of your damn house, just let me go.”

Seth smiles again, politely, and it makes a little chill run down Dean’s spine. “Mm. I don’t think so,” he says. “You do look a little warm, though. Let me take your jacket.”

“Um,” Dean says, because Seth hasn’t moved but the tentacles on his torso loosen enough that his jacket slips off his shoulders. His arm is free for a moment and he tries to use it to escape, but his legs are still held fast, and having one free arm doesn’t do much when the other is still caught tight. His jacket’s dangling by the other arm in no time and that seems to be satisfactory because his free arm isn’t anymore, a few tentacles wrapped tight around it. The head of one – he thinks it’s a head of sorts – fits snug into his palm, and he squeezes it hard enough that he thinks it should hurt. The tentacle doesn’t let go.

“There you go,” Seth says. “Better?”

Dean does feel a little overheated, actually, but not in a way that taking off his jacket will fix. “What’re you doing?” he asks. For all that Dean never has a plan, Seth doesn’t go anywhere without one. He probably had a plan formed for what to do with Dean by the time he sat down on that step. Even now, he looks calm and collected, and he’s still smiling.

“It’s not really about what I want, if I’m being honest,” Seth says, arms folding across his chest. “It’s my friend. I think they’ve taken a liking to you. They aren’t this nice to my friends.”

It’s like Seth knows exactly the right things to say to hurt him and just the right way to say them. Dean had known that already, but he’s still always surprised by it. He’s still surprised when Seth can hurt him worse than anybody. Now he’s been relegated to – he’s not, this isn’t just ‘we weren’t brothers,’ it’s ‘we weren’t even friends.’ It stings. Dean can think about it later, when he’s not under attack by some kind of tentacle monster thing.

“I’m very honored,” he says, “but I’d really like to go lick my wounds.”

“You broke into my house,” Seth says.

“I had a key,” Dean protests.

Seth tips his head to concede the point. “You piss on everyone’s shoes or am I special?”

“Well,” Dean says. Seth’s always been special, is the thing. He’s the person Dean’s loved most and hated most at the same time. Double whammy.

“That’s what I thought,” Seth says. “Like I said, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson. But my friend here does like you an awful lot." 

As if in response, one of the tentacles slides up his neck, up the back of his ear, and Dean only just manages to contain a yelp.

Another of them snakes across his stomach, underneath his shirt, and they feel… weird. Not quite slimy, but kind of damp, and cold, but not as cold as they were when he’d first felt them. That must be his body heat warming them up.

“I don’t even know what your friend is,” Dean says, and that’s when the first tentacle dips behind his belt buckle.

“Uh,” says Dean. There’s a realization dawning on him, but his psyche’s fighting it pretty hard. “When you say they like me—“

“I think you’re catching on,” says Seth, his teeth flashing in the low light when he grins. “I mean, I can see the appeal, I guess. If you’re into that kind of thing.”

His eyes flick up and down Dean, just once, and it’s fleeting, but Dean’s always been so easy for Seth and that’s enough for him to feel heat flicker low in his belly. That one almost dismissive glance and Dean’s hot for him as anything, and Seth probably knows it, too. He’s an embarrassment.

“Anyway,” Seth says, taking a little step back. “They like you. I think you two should get to know each other.”

“I think you should go fuck yourself, but y’know, we can’t always get what we—mmph!” Dean’s cut off by a tentacle firmly inserting itself into his mouth. He’s tempted to bite down, but it’s already there, and it’s long enough that – strangled to death by choking on a tentacle isn’t really how he wants to go. Roman wouldn’t come to his funeral if he choked to death giving a tentacle monster a blowjob.

Oh. He shouldn’t have thought that word, shouldn’t have thought it at all, because Seth’s watching him with this glint in his eye and Dean’s lips are stretched around this tentacle, he can feel it, he can feel that it looks obscene, probably, and he wonders what Seth’s thinking.

“Talking too much has always been a problem of yours, hasn’t it?” Seth asks. “I think I like you better like this. Not much backtalk in you when your mouth is full, is there?”

Dean can feel his face getting hot. He can only imagine what he looks like, covered in tentacles with one in his mouth, but whatever it is, it’s embarrassing, it’s humiliating, it’s… only kind of a turn-on.

“Hggfff,” he says around the tentacle, and it, it wriggles, and that’s the weirdest thing Dean’s ever felt, probably. It doesn’t taste like anything, the tentacle. It’s kind of slick and smooth like a hard boiled egg. The thought makes him want to gag. He doesn’t.

“Shh,” Seth says, stepping forward again. He reaches up, and touches the corner of Dean’s mouth, where the tentacle is stretching it open, and the skin there feels sore, achey. Seth’s touch is deceptively gentle, and only lingers for a second. “Told you, they like you,” he says. “If you’re nice, they’ll be nice. If you’re an asshole, well, they’ll probably get upset. You’re a smart guy when you use your head.”

Dean thinks about that. If Seth’s willing to call him smart, then there’s something more at work here. Seth used to call him a genius all the time, and has called him everything but since June, which just proves Dean was right not to believe him the first time around. If Seth’s willing, however begrudging, to give him this compliment, there’s something he wants.

It seems clear enough. _Be nice_. That’s what Seth wants. But why? Wouldn’t Seth like it more if Dean got battered half to death by these things, smacked around and choked and strangled until he’s on death’s door? Why does he want Dean being nice?

There’s an easy answer here. Easy enough, anyway. Maybe Seth just wants to watch Dean blow this tentacle. Maybe it’s as simple as that.

Dean watches Seth’s face and takes a deep breath in through his nose, then strokes his tongue up underneath the tentacle in his mouth. It shivers. Because Dean’s paying attention, he can tell Seth does, too.

Okay. Okay, that’s an angle he can play, at least. Fucking with Seth is something he likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at.

Dean’s face feels hotter than it ever has while he uses as much slack as the tentacles holding him have to take more into his mouth, and his lips stretch even farther, the throbbing ache in them ever more apparent. It doesn’t taste bad. If he doesn’t think about it too hard, he can just pretend it’s kind of a weird dick, and he’s sucked a bunch of weird dicks. This, this is nothing.

He closes his eyes to concentrate, but when he does, he hears more than he feels one of them wriggling against his belt, and his eyes open again, even though he can’t quite look down with the tentacle in his mouth. He doesn’t need to – about thirty seconds later, the waist of his pants is significantly looser, and his belt buckle jangles as the ends of it drop on either side of him.

There are enough tentacles twisting around his thighs that his jeans don’t actually fall down all the way but it’s enough that he can almost _feel_ his face gaining more color, the tops of his ears growing hot, while the tentacle that undid his belt slides its way along above the waist of his underwear. When Dean opens his eyes again, Seth’s watching that tentacle intently, and he licks his lips.

Dean’s hard. He knows he is, he can feel it, and he shouldn’t be at all but that doesn’t change that he is. He’s hard and there’s a tentacle sniffing around his hips and he’s sucking off another tentacle while some more hold him in the air. He squeezes the one that’s still curled in his fist. Another one butts him in the jaw, like a friendly nudge, except it’s a fucking tentacle.

Dean laughs a little at the ridiculousness, the insanity of his situation, and one of the tentacles that had been sliding around underneath his shirt twists up, he can feel it, and then there’s a sharp rip of fabric as one of the straps of his tank top is torn. He makes a noise, a sound of protest, and a tentacle (he doesn’t know if it’s the same one that ripped it) skates up over his collarbone, over his neck, little suction cups like apologetic kisses.

He doesn’t actually know for sure if this thing is sentient, but it sure seems like it. Dean doesn’t know if that makes it more or less weird. The weight on his tongue seems to react when he moves it, stroking or licking, or when the tentacle that’s firm on the base of his skull gently pushes forward, encouraging him to take more into his mouth.

There’s spit all down his chin, drooling from the corners of his mouth where it’s stretched wider than it’s used to being stretched, and Dean’s almost forgotten entirely about Seth until he glances up and sees him, watching Dean’s face.

 

Dean blushes harder. It’s blushing and he knows it is, not overheating or anything else, just a pink flush up his cheeks and down the top of his chest. He’s just realizing what he must look like, going down on this thing easy as pie, like he sucks cock for a living, hardly fighting this at all. He makes this pathetic little noise, humiliation in its purest form, and it takes Seth a second to react to it. He’s enthralled.

Seth smiles again, but this one’s different, openmouthed, the corner of his mouth pulling up in something with just a hint of something sinister to it. It’s almost playful.

“Enjoying yourself?” Seth asks, the first words he’s said aloud in some time. Dean’s hair is sticking to his forehead, the remnants of his shirt sticking to his chest, and there are tentacles all over him, down his pants and up his shirt and in his mouth, he thinks he’s missing a boot, maybe, and he’s kind of pissed off about that because he likes these boots. He better get that back before he leaves.

He is enjoying himself. He’s embarrassed and he hates this except it’s not actually so bad and he’s not choking to death, and it’s not snakes.

Dean tries to answer around the tentacle in his mouth, but it’s garbled and unintelligible. Seth’s smile widens.

“Right, forgot,” he says. “Your mouth’s kind of occupied. You do that real well, Ambrose. I wouldn’t have called that." 

Fuck him, fuck Seth, fuck how much Dean’s kind of getting off on the sneer in his tone, fuck the way Dean can feel tentacles in his underwear now and it’s not the worst thing to ever happen to him. One of them slips between his legs, right up against his balls, and it’s both the least and most erotic thing he’s ever felt.

“Pay attention,” Seth says, crisp and clear, and Dean realizes he’s stopped moving his mouth on the one there, and it’s getting antsy about that, already pushing farther into his mouth. Now Dean does choke, enough that a noise escapes his throat, a little gagging grunt that would put more color in his cheeks if he thought he could spare any blood from the rest of his body. His shorts are being tugged down and he should care more about that.

Instead, he just keeps his eyes on Seth’s while the tentacle pulls itself out of his mouth just to push itself back in. Seth’s staring at his mouth, at the spit on and around it, at how red his lips probably are, and Dean wants to make a show of it but his arms are falling asleep and he can only do so much showing off when he’s only got his mouth to work with.

The air is cool on his skin, or his skin’s just so warm that it feels cool. There’s a tentacle on his upper thigh, and he jerks when he feels one ghost past his dick, but it just gives him pins and needles in his shoulders where the other tentacles have him held tight. The curl of the tentacle around his cock once it’s there isn’t as shocking, but the fact that he’s just had that thought makes him burble with laughter again around the tentacle in his mouth.

He’s getting jerked off by a tentacle. He’s sucking off a tentacle. Can they even come? Is there even a point, an end goal to this, if the tentacle doesn’t come? Is this all just so Seth can have the visual, so Seth can know he’s brought Dean to this, he’s made Dean into this – he’s going to drive Dean crazy because whatever he says, whatever he’s ever said, he knows Dean isn’t quite there yet.

Dean’s still laughing when he comes, when the tentacle curled around him tightens and slides up, slick with something Dean doesn’t want to think about, and the tentacle in his mouth titters, apparently pleased. He was right that the tentacle doesn’t come, no burst of anything in his mouth. The tentacle just slides out, shiny with his spit, and it nuzzles up to his cheek like it’s saying thanks, or goodbye, or something else Dean can’t be bothered to try and translate.

His jaw aches something fierce, and he can still feel himself blushing, Seth looking at him, his smeary chin and his rubbed raw lips, the tentacles still wrapped all around him. His shoulder blades are screaming at him but the rest of his arms up to the tips of his fingers are still numb. He must look a sight. He wonders if Seth’s going to try to take a picture of him like this, and another laugh escapes him, croaky and quiet, his vocal cords raw like his mouth.

“It’s okay, honey,” Seth says in what’s almost a coo, and Dean wonders for some wild, bizarre moment if he’s talking to him. “You can let him go, now. You’ve had your fun.”

Dean’s expecting to be dropped unceremoniously, left to brace for impact, but while the tentacles which have his arms restrained slide off almost immediately, the rest of them remain to lower him carefully to the ground. One of them even snakes across the floor to get his boot for him, and another nudges his jacket next to him on the floor. Nice things. Real nice. Dean can feel hysterical laughter trying to break free but he refuses to let it.

“Learned your lesson, I hope?” Seth asks. When Dean looks, he’s crouched in front of Dean, perfectly balanced, and he looks inquisitive, as though this happens to him all the time.

“Sure,” Dean says. It’s as good an answer as any. “Sure. You fucking freak.”

Seth grins at him again and that sinister part of it really rings wrong in Dean’s head, pokes at his brain all wrong. “Call me names if it helps you sleep at night,” he offers. His hand moves and Dean’s ready to try and block a strike even though his arms still feel like TV static, but all Seth does is rest his hand on top of Dean’s head and curl it in his hair. It’s almost affectionate. Dean wants to crane up into it but he doesn’t. “Now get the fuck out of my house before I call the police. I think I’m probably not wrong in saying you wouldn’t want them to find you like this.”

That’s the understatement of the year. Dean scrambles to get his jeans up with his fumbly fingers, as Seth steps back from him and returns to the bottom of the staircase.

“Hey,” Dean says. “Seth.”

It feels wrong to call him anything else most of the time, even though Seth seems comfortable enough with nothing but Dean’s last name in his mouth.

“Mm?” Seth hums. He only barely looks exasperated when he turns to look at Dean. Mostly, he still looks amused, like he has this whole time.

Dean pauses, then says, “You know normal people get guard dogs, right?”

That makes Seth laugh that laugh again, the one that’s almost genuine. “Normal people get normal intruders, too, probably,” he says. “I got you.”

Dean is still thinking about that when he’s behind the wheel of his car, the faint remnants of little sucker marks visible sporadically on his hands and wrists, and probably everywhere else on him, too. _I got you_. It doesn’t mean anything, just like that hand in his hair hadn’t, just like the way Seth had watched his mouth that whole time hadn’t. It doesn’t mean anything. Dean doesn’t, not to Seth.

But if he really just sucked off a tentacle monster in the guy’s basement, he thinks he can let himself pretend for a little while.


End file.
